Weakness and Strength
by wawwhite
Summary: A little bumbling around her apartment had led to more than a little fumbling in her bedroom. Angelina contemplates her choices in life while lying in a married man's bed. Warning: strong language and adultery.


Angelina woke up at the ungodly hour of four o'clock in the morning. She tossed restlessly in the heat for a moment, before she stilled with a slight gasp, remembering what had happened only a few hours earlier. Vainly, she blinked in the dark, begging her stars, that she had not awoken her bedfellow. A low snore filled the silence, and she let out the gentle breath that she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Not daring enough to escape the bedroom, Angelina only lifted the covers off of her side. A breeze from the cracked window cooled her instantly.

However, no cold draft was able to stop the flushed heat the spread quickly across her entire body as the grogginess of sleep left her and she really remembered what had happened last night.

Here she was, lying next to a man who she wasn't dating, who was himself married, and was in fact the older brother of the man that she was dating. Dating? No, she was almost kinda-sorta engaged to him! I mean, George had asked her and she had said yes, oh, yes, but wasn't wearing his ring yet until he asked her parents and she had one made for him… but now she was rambling, and an engagement ring wasn't her current problem.

No, her current problem, was the probably still drunk, older brother of her boyfriend, scratch that, fiancé, that she now lay sleeping next to after a wild night of unbridled passion. What, by all that was magic, was Angelina going to do with Bill Wealsey, the charming, the drop-dead gorgeous, the spectacularly married man?

How had this happened to the admittedly flirtatious, but always respectable (well, mostly) Angelina Johnson? Why had she not insisted that George take off work and come to the bar with her? Why did Geroge persit on finishing some stupid product instead of coming with his girlfriend, scratch that, fiancé for drinks and fun? When did he ever do that? How could she possibly have this many questions spinning wildly in her head at once?

When George had opted out of going to the bar, Angelina had been a bit miffed and called up her girlfriends for a man-free evening. They had their normal flirtatious and foolish fun, with Alicia and Katie hitting up almost every guy in the bar. Angelina held back somewhat, trying to retain some self-respect, but the old bachelorette days' habits were hard to shake. When Bill Weasley and some of his cronies entered the bar already having imbibed a few drinks, Angelina's weakness for redheads surfaced.

The two of them flirted relentlessly for what seemed like forever. Angelina wasn't sure if Bill's slightly glassy eyes recognized her, but she was definitely sure that she didn't even care. He was simply too charming, too amusing, and too molten-hot sexy that she couldn't turn away. It didn't help that Alicia and Katie had left hours earlier and Bill's buddies seemed to see nothing wrong with their married friend paying so much attention to another girl. Alcohol was no one's friend when this sort of thing happened.

And according to the rumors, this was not the first time it had happened either. Bill, entirely devoted and faithful sober, had a tendency to lose all discretion and good judgment when too much alcohol was consumed. Fleur, kinder than most girls were, always forgave him. In all honesty, he really wasn't in control of himself, but Angelina wondered why Fleur ever let him out of the house. Perhaps it was a French-thing. Who knew? Anyways, Angelina could now add her own name to that list of other women. She shuddered.

After growing in audacity from subtle compliments to double entendres to outright propositions, the two appareted to Angelina's flat. A little bumbling around her apartment had led to more than a little fumbling in her bedroom. Drunken sex usually wasn't all that great, but Angelina hadn't knocked back enough to put her in a drunken stupor and was entirely aware of what was going on. Bill was surprisingly gentle and attentive, and Angelina had felt thoroughly satisfied, despite the fact that he kept calling her Fleur.

In each other's arms, they had drifted off to sleep, peaceful for Bill, and restless for Angelina. Only a few hours had passed before Angelina jerked awake and the guilt washed over her like a river of sludge. Gross, disgusting, putrid sludge. Unable to lie there any longer, Angelina slipped off the bed and almost ran to her shower.

As the scalding hot water purged her body from the night, Angelina desperately wished that it could somehow cleanse her soul as well. Scrubbing her body frantically, she tried not to think of Bill or, even more so, her fiancé George. But how could she help it? What would George say to all this? Their relationship had always been a bit rocky. Initially, years and years ago, she had been attracted to Fred. After the Battle of Hogwarts, she had tried to pretend that the differences between the twins weren't all that great. It was foolish and hurtful, but she had realized that eventually. Over time, she grew to love George as much as, but in different ways, his twin brother.

George made her laugh. He comforted her. He made her feel like everything was going to be not only all right, but wonderful. He had actually helped her more in the beginning with her sorrow, than she had him. His overwhelming confidence and optimism had banished the stormy clouds of grief from her life and replaced them with warm sunshine. He was everything she needed.

However, no matter how perfect he was, Angelina couldn't help but wonder how Fred would have been different, if he would have done the same for her, if he would have been better, or if George would have always been more. She knew George wondered the same thing, and worse still, she knew that he knew that she thought about it. Yet, for the longest time, she couldn't help herself. Time had faded those questions, and when she felt whole enough to accept him for who he was, he had known she was ready and had given her his ring and his heart.

It would have been entirely perfect, but now Angelina wrung her hands, wondering if she had ruined it all. Tearing up, Angelina stepped out of the shower and dressed quickly in her most comfortable pajamas. Fixing herself a cup of tea, she sat quietly in the kitchen, crying out her pain.

Fifteen minutes later she shook her head, knowing that crying wasn't going to save her relationship. First off, she knew that no matter what it took, she was determined to save it. The slight headache she had did nothing to neither assuage her guilt nor help her think. However she was determined, so she put her bleary mind to work.

Option A was to confess everything to George (and Fleur) and throw herself upon his mercy; that did not sound fun whatsoever, so Angelina determined to keep thinking. Option B, pretend that she had been extremely drunk, had no idea what she was doing, and that she remembered nothing; seemed to work for Bill, so it might work for her. Option C, dump Bill somewhere, he wouldn't recollect a thing, and she'd pretend she'd been alone all night; might work, but there was always the chance that someone who had seen them would remember something and decide to open their big, fat mouth. Option D, kill Bill while he slept, drag his body to uninhabited part of England, kill everyone else at the bar who had seen them, dump their bodies to the same abandoned area, and blame everything on a crazed Muggle serial killer; but that seemed like a lot of work. Besides, some rational part of her mind seemed to be screaming in horror at that idea.

Angelina shook her head. Four options, none of which seemed desirable at the moment, were all that she could come up with. In despair she banged her head on the table, sloshing her now lukewarm tea. It was hopeless, completely and utterly hopeless.

The ultimate question was: would George possibly take her back? She knew of the Weasley family's disdain for Bill's "accidental" philandering. What would they think of her: in love with one twin, only to move on to the other one when the first died, only to cheat with their older brother? She knew what she thought of herself: despicable, vile, shameful, but not actually surprised.

No, she wasn't entirely surprised by her own behavior. Angelina had never held the strictest of moral guidelines. She had always been attracted to well-sculpted male bodies, not matter who they belonged to. And red-headed, mischievous, charismatic men had always been her weakness – her ultimate downfall. Apparently, having one redhead wasn't enough. A tear dripped into the puddle of tea on the table. What was wrong with her? She had a perfectly wonderful fiancé, and her own stupid lust had ruined her. Why couldn't she have been satisfied with what she had? Her stomach twisted and sobs threatened to overtake her.

Then she remembered George's crooked smile, his playful laugh, and his kind eyes. As his face entered her mind, relief flooded her, almost violently. Of course he would forgive her, of course he would understand, of course everything would be not all right, but wonderful in the end. He would be mad, upset, hurt, but she would beg for his forgiveness and earn his trust once more. She would fight for him, for his love, and they would one day get married. This redhead wouldn't be her downfall, but her salvation.

As dawn's orange seeped through her curtains, she heard Bill muttering in her bedroom, "Where the hell am I…? Oh shit, Fleur's gonna kill me…"

Angelina laughed for a moment, the raised her head, determined. Beginning now, she would change. Today, she would do things differently.


End file.
